


Second Chance

by ElReyCiervo



Category: inFAMOUS (Video Game), inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Characters Trying to Change the Future, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Delgenetch, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Feels, Future, Hurt/Comfort, Includes Art, M/M, Memory Related, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past, Polyamory, Post good ending, Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Romance, Time Travel, dark future, good karma delsin, inFAMOUS Second Son, infamous - Freeform, memory viewing, semi apocolyptic future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2147721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElReyCiervo/pseuds/ElReyCiervo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year was 2018, and the world had gone to hell in a hand basket. Delsin knew they couldn't screw this up. This was their second chance, and they had to get it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Starry Night

Disclaimer: I do not own inFAMOUS: Second Son! It belongs to Sucker Punch. I only own Alphonse Rosenfaust, Marcus Alvarez, and Kendra White.

Warnings: This fic contains a 3-person pairing, polyamory: Delsin x Fetch x Eugene (Delgenetch). If you do not like polyamory or if it bothers you, do not read this fic then. This fic also contains swearing—at a reasonable level—and some violence. If violence and crude language offend you or bother you, do not read this fic. I don't believe I need to bump up the rating to M, but I may in the future.

This is my first inFAMOUS: Second Son fic, so please leave comments for your opinions and such! Thank you, and enjoy Second Chance!

* * *

 There were quite a few days as of late that Delsin's normally headstrong, confidant personality had melted away and left behind a quieter, more thoughtful—and sometimes pessimistic—twenty-five year old Conduit. It was during these times where Delsin would carefully pry himself from the warm and comfortable arms of Fetch and Eugene, careful not to wake them from the sleep they so desperately needed and deserved, and climb to the roof of their hideout—once Eugene's 'domain'. He quietly scaled down the stairs and opened the hatch on the ceiling, leading him to the chilly stone roof. He settled himself, bracing his weight on his hands as he leaned back, and raised his head toward the dark night sky. Now-a-days, the only time it was safe by any margin to go outside and let one's guard down was at night. Going for a normal walk down the streets during the daytime was a thing of the past, only possible a year and a half ago.

The sharp, icy December wind blew all of a sudden and Delsin winced as it stung his cheeks and hands. He shivered and curled in on himself for some warmth, cursing himself for not having the forethought to grab one of his coats or one of Eugene's extra hoodies to put over his thin, long-sleeve t-shirt and thick sweatpants. At least he had remembered to grab his shoes. But even with the cold and the wind, Delsin did not want to go inside. Tonight was, to his luck, the clearest and brightest night Delsin had witnessed in a long, long time. The dark violet-navy colored sky was sprayed with thousands of glowing white and white-blue stars, like his spraypaint on his stencils. Maybe he should have brought Fetch and Eugene out to enjoy the night, to see the rare sky that was not choked by clouds and thick, dense smog as it seemed to be now-a-days.

Then again, maybe not; he needed some time and space to think to himself—and brood.

As he looked away from the rare beauty the night sky provided him, he turned to look at the Seattle horizon, a stark contrast from the natural splendor of the violet-navy stretch of atmosphere. A year and a half ago, Delsin remembered, the Seattle horizon would practically be alive with multitudes upon multitudes of bright neon signs, the hustle and bustle of lively people, large animated video screens showing ads, and the cheerfulness of the nightlife. Now, however, the horizon seemed to have its personality and life sucked right out of it. There were still neon signs and video screens, still functional since most of them came on automatically, but the people that roamed the streets at night did so out of necessity now rather than leisure and pleasure. It was like this, from what Delsin had heard, all across the country. It was not safe to go out during the day, not with the Titans roaming about.

It's like something out of an X-Men comic, Delsin thought cynically as he wrapped his arms around his knees tighter and rested his chin atop his knees, except that it's real and not fiction. Delsin was not wrong to use this comparison. It was December of 2018, and the country—and Delsin suspected other countries but he could not be sure—had gone to hell in a hand basket in such a short amount of time, a year and a half.

After Delsin had defeated Augustine and exposed her to the public for what she had really been doing, there had been a relative peace; relative being the operative word as there still had been some angry protestors, stray Dupes still around, people still nervous, angry, scared, etc. of those gifted with powers (now rightfully called Conduits and not Bio-terrorists), and the confusion about those who had been freed from Curdun Cay—but that all had been expected. Angry protestors faded until they had popped up every few weeks instead of every day, and Delsin, Fetch, and Eugene had done their part to continue liberating Seattle from the Dupes.

With medical, psychiatric, and other help and counseling, most of the freed Conduits from Curdun Cay had been able to return to relatively normal lives, with some hiccups here and there. Out of the rest of the Conduits, however, a few had turned to lives of crime and misdemeanors while the others had contacted Delsin, Fetch, and Eugene saying they had wanted to help them. Thanks to these new people, the trio of Conduits then had five new contacts spread all throughout Seattle. The new contacts combined with the fall of Augustine and the lesser amount of Dupes roaming the streets made their lives a hell of a lot easier. Months had gone by and life had been pretty good, in Delsin's opinion.

But, looking back at that time, Delsin realized it was foolish to think that lull would have had lasted forever. It most certainly had not. It had been a few months later when an enormous thirty-foot tall metal…well, Delsin could not think of another word to use other than 'robot', had climbed out of the harbor and started attacking random people on the streets. It had looked like random attacks, but they had all later learned and realized that the giant metal robot had been attacking Conduits, not normal humans. Mass panic ensued. To make a long story short, it had taken a long five hours for Delsin, Fetch, and Eugene to finally take down the behemoth, all sustaining serious injuries. During their week of recovery from lacerations, bruises, scrapes, and one or two broken bones, they had watched the news and had listened to the media talk about and discuss the metal robot that had emerged from the harbor. News reporters had interviewed the fifteen survivors of the one-hundred victims, and it had been revealed that all the targeted people had been Conduits. That had greatly unsettled a lot of people, and even with the national controversy and nervousness over Conduits and such, the nation had mourned. But life had moved on, again as expected.

It had not been until two weeks after that three more of the metal behemoths had appeared in different spots in Seattle. It had taken a full day, help from the military, help from random and generous Conduits across the state, and of course Delsin, Eugene, and Fetch to take down the…monsters (and they were rightfully called monsters for a reason). Five-hundred thousand dollars in collateral damage, thirteen dead military officers, two-hundred fifty-six murdered Conduits, twenty captured Conduits, and one-hundred five killed civilians later and the country had known there was a serious and very disturbing problem. The metal robots—'automatons' as Eugene had corrected Delsin—dubbed Titans, were murdering a good amount of the American population.

Delsin had not trusted the police or military to investigate the situation properly, so he, Fetch, and Eugene had taken it into their own hands. Their first place of interest to look had been, to Delsin and Fetch's immense surprise, had been Curdun Cay. Eugene had suggested it in a tight voice after going over the evidence and data his Angels had brought in. On their way to the abandoned facility the next day, the smoke-Conduit had kept close to Fetch and Eugene, not keeping them out of his sight. They had spent hours in the concrete walls of Curdun Cay, searching each of the levels with great care and speculation. There had been quite a few rooms that both neither Fetch nor Eugene would step into, and that had been perfectly understandable; Delsin searched the rooms for them, but ultimately found nothing. They had gone back to ground level, about to leave, until an open door caught their attention. They had not seen it when they had first searched so they opened it, finding a tunnel that led down a dark series of steps. Delsin remembered Eugene and Fetch being very confused as they had never known there were lower levels of Curdun Cay.

The trio of Conduits had followed the stairs for what had seemed like forever until the stairs stopped and they reached a landing. It had become too dark to see, so they had lit their hands for light with glowing orange ember-smoke, bright pink neon, and pixelating white and blue video. What they had seen had caused a thrill of horror to run through Delsin. There were at least thirty-plus of enormous metal Titans—the same ones that had been attacking Seattle—standing right in front of them, all lined up in rows with military-like precision. Had Augustine been creating these metal monstrosities during her time in the D.U.P.? It had turned out, yes, yes she had been. The three of them booked it out of there as quick as they could. They brought the information they had found to the attention of the authorities, since something that big and that nation-affecting could not be kept between the three of them. So, the authorities—and military—had been informed and it had been only a few hours later that they had Augustine in an interrogation cell. Even locked up and restrained, she still had that bitchy holier-than-thou attitude that had made Delsin want to reach over the metal table and strangle her. Being locked away had not allowed information to be fed to her, so the news of the mysterious Titans attacking had actually surprised her—them attacking, not the actual Titans themselves.

When they had told her they—Delsin, Eugene, and Fetch—had found the Titans underneath Curdun Cay, she had actually had the gall to laugh at and mock Fetch and Eugene, saying that she thought they had sworn never to return to Curdun Cay. It had taken Eugene and Fetch plus another two military officers to restrain Delsin as he had launched himself to throttle the red-haired harpy. He had been required to remove himself from the interrogation room for a short period of time. He had returned to the room with bruised—and slightly bloody—knuckled from punching a wall. It had taken several long, tiring hours and a very good interrogator until Augustine had confessed what had been her plans for the Titans. She had said that she had created them to capture Conduits first in Seattle then across the country, and then take them to Curdun Cay. (She had also confessed that it was her plan that in the near future, the D.U.P. was supposed to set up several facilities across the county just like Curdun Cay.) Augustine had explained that her plan was only to capture the Conduits—like she had explained to Delsin during their fight in the Ch. 6 News building. That had made them very confused.

If Brooke Augustine had not been the one controlling the Titans, then who had been?

Their answer had come literally the next day when a man named Alphonse Rosenfaust, as he called himself, had hacked several of the local and national television and radio news-stations and channels and announced his intentions. He had declared war in all Conduits. Mass panic had ensued across the entire country, and the President, realizing how much the situation had escalated and how bad it was about to get, had declared Alphonse Rosenfaust a national domestic-terrorist that was to be brought in immediately. The Conduits from Curdun Cay, including Fetch and Eugene, had recognized Rosenfaust immediately as Augustine's scientist partner, the man who had loved experimenting and testing on Conduits with a passion. Hearing this and seeing his two closest companions' bone-white faces, Delsin had immediately pulled them into a deep hug and they had holed themselves in Eugene's domain, clinging to each other.

They had not been seen by anyone for the rest of the day.

It had turned out that during Augustine's reign, Rosenfaust had been busy scheming behind her back, just waiting for the right time to act. He had taken over the Titans they had both (plus some other hands) had been working on. He had reprogrammed the titans to go from just capturing Conduits to hunting, capturing, and killing Conduits. He had felt like it had been a perfect time to launch the Titans after Augustine had been defeated since she would not be in his way.

The Titans were fearsome, and rightfully so. They had the general structure of a human, just made of all metal; they had weapons in their arms—rockets, lasers, etc.—and the same thing with their eyes and upper chests. If their intent was capturing Conduits, the Titans would store them in their lower chest cavities, never to be seen again. Rosenfaust's monsters had appeared more and more frequently until they were an everyday appearance. To the great confusion of everyone, the Titans never appeared at night, only during the day. As soon as the sun went down, the Titans would leave with whatever victims they had captured or killed. Many people, including Delsin, suspected that Rosenfaust did all his experiments and tests at night; capture and kill during the day, experiment at night. It was like a plot from some twisted horror novel.

Delsin sighed tiredly, watching his warm breath mist in the icy air. I hope our plan works, he thought. We need this to work. This isn't any way to live. He was broken out of his thoughts when he felt a pair of thin, bracelet-covered arms wrap around his shoulders and the owner sit behind him. Another single arm rested on his back and the hand tugged at the hair-tie that was holding his shoulder blade-length hair together, tangling in his hair. The owner of said hand sat to the left of him. The extra body heat from the two made Delsin feel a hell of a lot warmer than before; it felt good. Scents of lavender-vanilla perfume and warm sandalwood filled his nose. "You're going to catch a cold if you stay out here, Delsin," a familiar male voice said.

"Eugene, Fetch," he said, a little surprised, "I thought you guys were still asleep. I didn't wake you up did I?"

A feminine laugh came from behind him as her arms drifted from his shoulders to his waist. "You're an idiot, D," Fetch said in her Brooklyn accent. "We woke up when we felt you were gone. What'cha doin' out here?" She scooted from behind him to sit on his right.

"I'm not going to catch a cold, Eugene. I'm fine," he smiled. "And I'm just…thinking. Thinking and looking at the sky."

"Delsin thinking? I think the world's gonna end, Eugene!" she joked and Eugene huffed out a laugh, fingers still raking through Delsin's long black hair.

"You guys are terrible," he said flatly.

"We love you, too, Delsin," Eugene replied.

Delsin rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around the two. His left arm brushed Eugene's empty left shoulder, passing an empty hoodie sleeve, before settling on his waist, and Delsin's right arm fell to Fetch's waist as well. Delsin was happy. He could tell his two lovers were very peaceful right now. The tenseness in Fetch's muscles were gone, from what Delsin could feel, and Eugene's twitchiness was non-existent. Eugene's armor that was similar to the what He Who Dwells wore-that made the gamer look very sexy, in Delsin's opinion-was nowhere to be seen and his left shoulder was relaxed, free from the weight of his metal prosthetic.

It was a bitter memory for Delsin to remember, but he could not help but be reminded of it every day. It had happened January of this year when he, Eugene, and Fetch had gotten intel about Rosenfaust. They had found out where the sleazy bastard had been hiding—in a base by the Puget Sound—and they had infiltrated said base. It had all happened so fast that it was difficult to piece together. Somehow one of Rosenfaust's experiments had gone awry and the end was result had somehow turned him into a Conduit. His Titans had sensed the change in their creator and had been quick to attack him, killing him as Rosenfaust had not been used to his powers and thus had been helpless to defend himself. The remaining two Titans that had not been destroyed by the trio of Conduits had gone on a berserk rampage, destroying the facility they were all in. The building had been coming down on them, explosions combusting all around them. Just as they had been about to escape, exit right in front of them, Delsin had heard a pained cry from Eugene combined with agonized screaming. He and Fetch had turned only to see Eugene on the floor, clutching his left shoulder—which had been gushing blood. Next to him was a large metal piece of what looked to be an industrial fan; the blade was streaked with red. His arm had been nowhere to be seen. Delsin and Fetch had never run to a hospital that fast in their lives.

When Eugene had been out of surgery and partially recovered, the pale-faced blonde had commented to Delsin and Fetch that he was going to be the world's best one-handed gamer. Fetch had excused herself from the room to 'get some air', tears evident in her voice. Delsin's chest had felt equally in pain as he forced himself not to talk, lest he start crying as well.

Still sitting in the chilly night air, Delsin felt Fetch rest her pink-haired head on his right shoulder. He moved his hand from her waist and gently cupped her half-shaven head, drawing her in close.

Fetch had chosen the shaven hairstyle in order to keep her hair close to her head, and away from any prying hands. It had been late at night a little over thirteen months ago—Fetch had been growing out her hair, saying she had wanted a change in style, and it had reached all the way to the middle of her back. They had all been staying at Delsin's apartment, back when apartments still used to be safe. She had come out of the shower dressed in a simple purple t-shirt and jean shorts, long hair still damp. She had told them she was running to the Walgreens down the block for some hair-care products because her hair was 'atrociously frizzy and bein' a real bitchy pain in the ass', and Delsin quoted. Eugene had made the comment that her hair looked beautiful and there was nothing wrong with it. Delsin had laughed when Fetch blushed, and she had just mumbled something, grabbed her large green jacket, and walked out the door. It had not even been fifteen minutes later when Delsin, looking out the window of the apartment, had seen a bright neon flare shoot up and burst in the sky near the Walgreens Fetch had been at. Delsin and Eugene had been quick to fly out the window and over there. They had been met with the sight of their girlfriend surrounded by a horde of six guys, two holding her arms, one tugging her hair, and the others working on getting her clothes off. The two boyfriends had not been merciful in the slightest, and when the bastards had been eliminated, they had wrapped Fetch up in their arms and brought her home. She had cried the rest of the night, clutching their arms so hard that her long, painted nails had dug into their skin and made them bleed a bit; the boys did not care. The next day she had emerged from the bathroom with her extremely short and shaven hairstyle. She had not talked much for the next few days. Delsin and Eugene had just held her, kissed her, and told her she was beautiful.

Delsin was broken out of his thoughts when he heard Eugene hum next to him. "We rarely ever see the sky like this," he whispered in appreciation.

"Mm-hmm," Fetch agrees into the juncture of his neck.

The smoke Conduit did not want to burst their moment of peace—arms spun around another and legs in one tangle—but he had to say what was one his mind. "We'll get to see the sky like this if the plan works.

Eugene stopped fiddling with Delsin's hair and Fetch lifted her head from his shoulder. "You mean when it works. It's gonna work, D," Fetch said, certainty clear in her voice. "We've been working on it the whole year, and everyone's done their part. We just gotta set it into action."

"Tomorrow," Eugene added as he squeezed Delsin's hand, then Fetch's.

The plan was something that could have been from a sci-fi novel, like what Delsin knew Eugene like to read when he had the time. It involved, as strange as it sounded, memory-sharing, mind-walking, a Conduit who could manipulate time, and Eugene's video power. The ideas had come from Eugene himself, actually. When he had been talking to Marcus Alvarez, the time-manipulating Conduit who was one of their five contacts spread across Seattle, Eugene had asked if it were possible if he could send anyone into the past. Marcus had commented that he could do so, but only an hour or two back. Then Eugene had contacted Kendra White, a Conduit who could delve into minds (also one of their contacts), asking about her powers. He had called a meeting of all of them—himself, Delsin, Fetch, Marcus, and Kendra—to his domain so he could explain his plan. Eugene had told them what he had been thinking: for Kendra to collect a group of people's memories—those those affected by Augustine—and meld them together, almost like a movie. She would then take this memory-movie thing and plant the whole thing into Eugene's head, who would use his video power to make it appear on screens.

All of them, still sitting in his domain, had sat there shocked and had just asked 'why?'. He then had gone on to explain that, if Marcus could continue training himself and training his power, he could send them back in time to expose Augustine sooner and stop Rosenfaust. It had taken some convincing, but Eugene was actually quite persuasive. Over the span of the next year (since it had started in January) Kendra began collecting memories from myriads of people—from Delsin, Fetch, and Eugene themselves, and others like Betty and willing police officers—while Marcus continued to train his powers diligently.

Tomorrow was the day—actually in just a few hours—when the plan would be set in action. Kendra and Marcus were currently sleeping in the extra rooms of their base. (The base used to be Eugene's domain, but they ended up adding extra rooms and fortifications to the underground dwelling.) As soon as dawn came, before the sun rose, their plan would be executed. And to sound melodramatic, the fate of the world rests on us three, Delsin thought half-sarcastic and half-serious.

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

They enjoyed the silence and the starry night until Fetch pierced the quietness with her classy remark. "Smokes, Teen-Angel, let's go inside already! I'm freezin' my tits off!" Eugene choked on a snort and Delsin just out-right laughed. He lifted up his hand and let glowing smoke twirl around it. "Don't worry, Fetch. I'll make sure they stay real warm," he smirked.

"Delsin!" Eugene shouted indignantly, scarlet blush across his cheeks.

They all got up and Delsin and Fetch slung their arms around an embarrassed Eugene's shoulders and the trio of Conduits headed toward the hatch of the rood. As soon as they were climbing down the hatch, they felt the whole building shake, making Delsin slip from the latter rungs and fall on his butt. "Ow! Dammit, what the hell was that?!"

"Are you okay, Delsin?" he heard Eugene shout from above.

Delsin got up, rubbing his behind, and replied, "Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine." Fetch and Eugene hopped down from the ladder, swaying slightly as the building was still shaking.

Kendra and Marcus came running from their rooms looking very panicked and frantic. "Titans!" Marcus shouted, hunched over his knees and out of breath. "The Titans are attacking the building."

Horror ran through Delsin's body, and he let out a few involuntary sparks of embers and puffs of cindery smoke. "What?! How?! They're never freakin' active at night!"

"I know, but—" Marcus was cut off when he lost his balance and toppled over when a hole was ripped through the roof of the building, revealing the metallic face of a Titan.

"Shit!" Kendra swore. "Guys, get back! It looks like the plan's going to start rolling sooner rather than later."

Delsin, Fetch, and Eugene were firing their strongest blasts of smoke, neon, and video, trying to hold the off the Titans. Marcus grabbed their arms and started tugging them away, cutting off their power barrage. "Come on, we have to get going! It's now or nothing."

Fetch turned to Marcus and screamed, "You crazy? And leave Kendra by herself against the Titans?! We can't do that. She doesn't have any offensive powers!"

"Don't you worry your pretty pink head, Fetch!" Kendra yelled back, dodging a giant metal hand that reached into the building. She whipped out a pistol from the cargo pants she had been sleeping in and started shooting at the eyes of the Titan. "I'm not completely defenseless."

Where in the hell did she get a gun from?! Delsin thought in surprise. But that was beside the point. He knew that being by herself against the Titans—with just a simple hand gun—was plain suicide.

Kendra turned back to them with a determined air. "Go. I'll be fine. You guys have a job to do." And by the look on her face, she knew it was suicidal as well.

"Dammit," Delsin muttered as he bit his lip and clenched his fists. Reluctantly, he started walking away. In a much louder voice, he yelled back at her, but did not face, "You better stay alive, Kendra! You got a boyfriend to get back to!"

At that comment, Marcus stopped and looked back at Kendra for a moment before turning away. Delsin was close enough to here hum mumble, "Yeah, she does."

Eugene spoke up, paces ahead of them. "We have to get going."

"Right." More of the roof started caving in, and they were all lucky enough to dodge all the fragments without injury.

They all ran to the bunker that was built for this kind of situation. It was not very large, just the size of an extremely small bedroom. There were no windows, and the dingy, cold walls were covered in equally cold riveted steel. Marcus shut the door, locking its heavy metal latch with a dull clunk. They sat in a close circle, trying to ignore the deadly commotion outside.

"Alright," Marcus said in a thick voice, "We need to have physical contact for this to work. Everyone hold hands." Right down to business.

Marcus grabbed into Fetch's left hand while she grabbed onto Delsin's left. Using his right hand, Delsin had to grab onto Eugene's shoulder, and Eugene grabbed onto Marcus's left hand. "I knew I should have attached my prosthetic," Eugene sighed.

"Sorry, Eugene, I wasn't thinking. But that works, too!" Marcus reassured. "As long as physical contact is maintained." He closed his eyes in focus, and the three Conduits felt a tingling sensation in their bodies. "Okay, listen up. This is going to feel weird, but don't freak out; nothing bad is going to happen. I'm going to send you guys back to the point where you guys have all met and fought alongside Eugene, that way you guys are already in contact with one another." (1)

Fetch then said, "Shouldn't we come up with a place to meet up when we go back? And maybe somethin' we could say—like a phrase—so that we know it's really us and not the…uh, other us?"

"The Longhouse," Delsin blurted out. In this time period, the Akomish Longhouse had been wiped out by the Titans when Delsin had gone to visit. There had been no survivors. The Longhouse would still be standing when they all met there again, and all his tribe would still be alive. He repeated himself, swallowing thickly, "The Longhouse. It's out of the way and the Dupes won't be looking there. Plus, we won't be chased out."

"Alright," Eugene said, "the Longhouse it is. And maybe our code-phrase thing could be…" he trailed off, thinking.

"Marcus Alvarez and Kendra White need to get together," Delsin said as he shot a small grin toward Marcus. The time-manipulating Conduit's eyes were as wide as saucers and a blush was prominent on his face. He sucked his teeth. "Whatever, Delsin. Just hurry up so I can go help Kendra…"

You guys have no offensive powers against the Titans! You're going to die! Let us help you! Delsin wanted to protests and stay to help them, but he bit his tongue, knowing that he had his own job to do.

"Keep contact and close your eyes. Focus on the time period you want to go to—this will help me more. Remain calm…and focus…" With his eyes closed, Delsin heard Marcus's voice begin to drift away, and the tingling in his body became more prominent and severe. He felt Fetch squeeze his hand even tighter and Eugene nudge closer to him.

The loud banging continued, and also it sounded like the metal door of the bunker was creaking open, groaning by force.

"Keep focused!" Marcus instructed.

"…I-I…love you both, F-Fetch, D-Delsin," Eugene stuttered in a rushed whisper. He heard Fetch suck in a breath, and Delsin swallowed a lump in his throat.

"We love you, too, Euge—" The tingling began to feel like his body was being ripped apart, but Delsin forced himself not to scream. All noises in his ears cut off and even though he opened his eyes, all he could see was void-like blackness. Was it the transition to the past or his way to unconsciousness?

He did not know which to hope for more.

* * *

 

 Written: 6/25/2014; Posted: 8/16/14

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Second Son takes place around June, 2017 while this first chapter is set in December, 2018.
> 
> (1) After the mission where Eugene says "I can rain hellfire down on their asses," then jumps of the roof and flies away.
> 
> A/N 1: If the Titans sound familiar, they should. I based the Titans off of the Sentinels in the X-Men universe, the giant robots that capture the mutants (and later hunt them down and kill them like in X-Men: Days of Future Past). Really though, there have been times when I've played the inFAMOUS series and thought to myself just how similar the Conduits are to mutants. If there is anyone unfamiliar with the X-Men universe and Sentinels and such, go look on the X-Men wiki page for information.


	2. The Memories that Surge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own inFAMOUS: Second Son.
> 
> Warnings: Polyamory, swearing (with Fetch especially), violence, blood.
> 
> Please leave a comment! Thank you!

* * *

Today just was _not_ Delsin's day. Not in the slightest. He had already gotten a lecture from a pissed off Reggie about his 'mark on the world' and all that after he had caught him trying to sneak into the party at the Longhouse. Then some armored vehicle had crashed onto their land, releasing three criminals—one of whom was a Bioterrorist. (1) Oh, and then said man had grabbed onto him as a hostage while Delsin, being the _smart_ person that he was—note the sarcasm—had grabbed onto the man's arm and somehow had gotten powers of his own, crazy smoke powers to be specific. And after some— _a lot_ —of panicking, some consoling and reassurance from Reggie, and quite a few burning trees, Delsin has gone back to the cannery. So here he was, in the middle of the burning building of the fishing cannery looking for Betty, and trying to keep her safe from the Bioterrorist.

Splendid day, right?

He heard Betty yell, and Delsin barreled through the door in time to see her backing away from the same man in the orange jumpsuit from earlier. Delsin felt a headache press against the back of his head—probably from all the stress from his new powers and stuff—but he shook it off as he had more important things to worry about. He pointed at the Bioterrorist with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. "You!" he growled through his teeth. "You did this to me!" He started to allow the energy in his body to flow to his hands, about to let smoke and cinders out. They weren't visible yet, though.

"Whoa, hey, man," the Bioterrorist said as he held up placating hands, "I don' want not trouble, you hear?"

"Fix this!" Just as Delsin was about to let the heated smoke fly, the annoying headache that he had felt earlier raged into agonizing pain that seared throughout his head. _"Arghhh!"_ He clutched his head, nails digging through his red beanie and biting into his skull, and he doubled over with his eyes screwed shut. The pain was debilitating.

"Delsin!" he heard Betty yell in worry, voice high-pitched with her tenseness.

Then he heard the Bioterrorist say, "I'm outta here," before dispersing into smoke.

Sounds were beginning to flood out of his ears like arctic water, out of Delsin's reach, and through his now squinted eyes, his vision began to become blurry as though he were looking through a fogged-up glass. He managed to discern, however, that his perspective had somehow managed to become sideways. Oh, did he fall to the ground on his side? He had not noticed. Pain seared through his head again, with even greater intensity, and he actually let a sob escape his lips as he rolled onto his back. _God, am I dying?_ He could not help but question. He felt something wet and warm drip from his nose and ears, but he didn't dwell on it.

He could vaguely hear Betty's voice, but he could not make out what she was saying. Even through the agony, Delsin still felt bad for making her frantic over him. Lord knows she should not have to be. Soon the cloudy images and intense pain bled to sights and feelings he had never seen before…

… _He was holding on to Reggie's hand as he dangled above choppy water, concrete steadily creeping up his body like a disease. "Dammit, I am_ _ **so**_ _damn proud of you, Del. I love you, little brother." The weight that was pulling his arm down was suddenly gone as his older brother plummeted to his fate in the gray, churning waters. Ice-cold grief latched onto Delsin's heart like a set of monster's teeth—he couldn't breathe—and red hot, lava-rage burned through his veins…_

_..Warm lips that tasted like chaptstick pressed against his own lips, and Delsin sighed pleasantly through his nose. Another pair of lips, these pouty and strawberry flavored, took over where the first pair had been. Thumbs—soft, but rough—ghosted on his jaw line, and he clutched the owners' hands, one pair nimble and pale, the other small but strong with pink-purple nails…_

… _It was dark and he was sitting in a comfy, uniform chair. A movie theater. The brightness from the screen illuminated his two companions that were sitting beside him: a girl with pink hair and a large green jacket—Fetch, his mind supplied—and a guy with fluffy blonde hair and a hood over his head—Eugene. Fingers were intertwined with fingers—"We're safe now."—and he didn't want to leave even though the credits were almost over…_

… _Delsin was clutching Fetch along with Eugene as she held onto them for dear life. "We love you." Achiness radiated from his split knuckles, but was ignored for pressing gentle kisses on lips, cheeks, foreheads, and all. Wet sniffles and harsh feminine sobs filled his ears, and he heard another male voice, a beautiful tenor, comfort the beautiful girl in their arms. Fetch's nails hurt, but he didn't care as he softly ran his fingers through her long pink hair. "You're beautiful. We love you. We love you so, so much."…_ (2)

… _He saw a blond male with glasses in front of him—Eugene—wearing his everyday clothes, but with pieces of light metal armor on top of them: spauldrons, vambraces, greaves, and a short chest plate. They looked like pieces from the armor he would wear when he became He Who Dwells. "I don't want to be weak. I want to be able to protect you guys for a change." A hand grabbed the back of Delsin's head, taking him by surprise, and pushed it towards him, instigating a kiss. Heat bloomed across his cheeks from his lover's surprising boldness…_

… _Red. So much red, all over the place. Screams rang throughout the air—"Oh my God, Eugene!"—while fire surrounded them. His hands pressed on their boyfriend's now mangled stump of a shoulder. Gotta stop the bleedin. Gotta stop the bleeding. Gotta stop the bleeding_ _ **Gottastopthebleeding**_ _. Why were his hands shaking so much? How was Eugene still conscious? "Make it stop! Gahhh, make it stop!"The blonde was sobbing. "Delsin, we need to get to hospital." Run, keep running. He—they—had to keep running, keep running…_

… _It was nighttime. The three of them were all tangled in the sheets of their bed. Delsin and Fetch were on either side of Eugene as they wrapped their arms around him. She placed soft kissed on the blonde's lips and neck, and he kissed Eugene's shoulder. "We still love you no matter what." Tears escaped blonde lashes but were quickly wiped away. It was getting warm, warmer, warmer—Delsin could feel fingers drifting from his shoulders, to his chest, to his waist—and he kept pressing kissed all over Eugene. Reassurance. Love. "We love you." The moans and gasps that came from the male's tenor voice were stunningly beautiful…_

… _He was looking up at the violet-navy sky—God, the stars looked amazing—and his skin felt chilly as the December air bit into his skin. Fetch sat next to him and so did Eugene. He was warm now. Comfortable. "I wanna stay like this forever." Warm bodies. Cold night. Rocking, shaking. Why was the building shaking? The roof was peeled away, revealing a giant robot, a Sentinel—monster, killer,_ _ **murderer**_ _—that reached into the building. "We gotta go!" A dark-haired Conduit, Marcus, was rushing them. Another Conduit, a girl named Kendra—"I'm not completely defenseless!"—was holding the Sentinels off. He was holding hands and Eugene's shoulder, and he felt tingling. Then intense pain. The plan was rolling. It was in action now. He saw darkness, darkness…_

Darkness.

* * *

Eugene did not know how in the hell he had gotten into this situation. Really, he didn't. One minute he and two other Conduits—a pink-haired girl named Fetch, and a guy with tattoos called Hank—were on their way to the military in an armored vehicle and the next minute he was fighting for his freedom (and life). Hank had somehow gotten free from his handcuffs and had commandeered the vehicle, causing it to crash. Eugene and Fetch had taken that opportunity to escape. He wasn't worried about Hank; that man could take care of himself.

So here he was, gliding in the sky on his digital wings raining down swords of video onto the D.U.P.'s who were trying to recapture him. He would be damned if he was going back to that hell hole. Meanwhile, he could see Fetch streaking from officer to officer, pink-purple neon trailing behind her as she took them down relentlessly. Gosh, she was amazing…and kind of pretty too. She was certainly a Conduit who could hold her own. From the moment the vehicle had crashed into the Salmon Bay region, Fetch had been a forceful surge of momentous energy, not taking a second thought as she ran—and was now fighting for—her life and freedom. Eugene, himself, on the other hand had hesitated before running away—and yes, he did consider fleeing the vehicle as running away. Eugene thought his only saving quality about himself was his strength in his powers. He may not have been outgoing or incredibly strong in a physical sense, like the football players that had bullied in high school, but he was damn positive that he was a powerful Prime (3). That he did not doubt in the slightest.

Still in the air, Eugene was lurched out of his thoughts when a heavy ballistic roared by him, just missing him by a foot from his shoulder. He flinched violently and, as a reflex, sent deadly pixels toward the attacker via Video Torrent. _I need to get my head out of the clouds or I'm going to get hit_ , he thought to himself as he rubbed his ears and his temples. His ears were ringing marginally and achiness blossomed at his temples. He brushed it off. _It's probably from being at such a close proximity to the heavy ballistic._

He continued fighting, making sure his Angles left no D.U.P. unchecked; they could not afford one slipping away lest they return with reinforcements. Many of the troops were injured or killed, and now they were only facing off against a squad of ten troops and two helicopters. Eugene felt a surge of hope pulse through his body, confidant in the thought that they were going to get away, mostly safe. Fetch was taking care of the men on the ground with markswoman-like precision while he was going to finish off the armed helicopters.

As he was about to fire a heavy-duty shot to destroy the first helicopter, he felt a searing pain spike in his head as if someone had driven a hot metal nail through his skull. He doubled over, still somehow in the sky, and clutched his head, fingers digging into his skull and twining through his blonde hair. Eugene let out a scream of agony, one that sounded inhuman even to his own fleeting hearing. The ringing in his ears and the achiness in his head that he had brushed off earlier now crippled as it sounded like something was roaring into his head; the achiness graduated into debilitation that grew from his temples to all over his head, like a sharp thorny vine.

He could not focus, could not see straight, and could barely hear anything. He thought he felt himself swaying in the air, but when his back met the painfully hard and uneven concrete he realized even through his mussed up brain that he had fallen straight from the sky. He felt shrapnel and a hot cloud of fiery smoke pelt his body and he assumed one of his Angels had taken care of the helicopters. Or maybe it was Fetch. Through the roaring in his head, he though he heard Fetch scream his name. _Why would she be yelling for—?_

Eugene's thoughts were cut off when something wet and warm began to dribble out of his nose and ears, and his body began to shake. His left arm was hurting— _Why was it hurting?_ —and he felt chilly. The shaking escalated. The landscape of fallen D.U.P.'s, angry pink neon streaking everywhere, and glowing blue swords of video impaling the streets and trucks faded from his eyes like steam fading away from a hot drink and sounds evaporated just as quickly. They were replaced by things he never even imagined before…

… _He was encased in a stone trap next to a pink-haired woman, floating hundreds of feet in the air above the gray, choppy Seattle waters. Everything ached and he could only conclude that Augustine was somewhere nearby. He heard a male voice yell a name he had never heard before—"Reggie!"—then, "Fetch! Eugene!" They were soon falling, falling, falling into the watery bleakness. Shock. Cold. He could barely feel his limbs. Which way was up? Somehow he managed to summon his wings and make it to the top…_

… _His hands cut through the air as they waved around, pointing to this and that as he explained something to two people sitting in front of him, The woman who he knew to be Fetch was smiling at him, although she did look a little bored, and a man, with tan skin and long black hair partially covered by a red beanie, who looked to be just a year or so older than him said a wise-crack. It made him stop explaining but he wasn't angry. A laugh. Familiarity…_

… _His domain was dimly lit, the only light source coming from his multiple monitors that were set up all around. He could tell the weather outside was cold because there was a chill hanging in his domain. But he didn't feel it because two warm bodies were pressed up on either side of him on the couch. A smaller, curvier form was on his left, thin legs thrown over his own that were propped up on the snack-covered coffee table. Fetch. On his right was a larger male, the same one from earlier—Delsin, his mind somehow provided—who had his arm slung over Eugene's shoulders. The tinny of pixely 8-bit video game music filled the room, and they all laughed when the character died…_

… _A male baritone spoke softly into his ear, sending shivers down his spine. He recognized it as Delsin's voice and he could hear Fetch's accented soprano (4) pour into his other ear._ _He could tell they were up high, all of Seattle at their feet. They were sitting at the very top of the Space Needle, eating more than enough junk food and soda that were good for them. They were having a good time just being stupid and fooling around; they were taking turns forming shapes and pictures with their pictures with their powers, with Fetch being the best. Delsin used his smoke to illustrate scary Akomish tales—cackling all the meanwhile when Fetch and Eugene would jump in surprise—while Eugene formed a marching band of mini-Angels. Fetch though they were freaking adorable. A warm kiss on his lips. Pouty lips on his neck. Fingers threaded through his own and he squeezed them back…_

… _The harsh bite of painted nails pierced his arm. Wet saltiness in the juncture of his neck. Arms encompassed them both and he clutched her to his chest. "We love you," they told Fetch. Every sob stabbed him in the chest like deadly sharpened daggers, and he would so, so much rather hear her uninhibited soprano laughs and giggles than her wet, broken sobs. A handsome baritone was trying to comfort her as Eugene gently rocked her. "You're beautiful and we love you so much." And he could only think: Please don't let this break you. Come back to use, please. We love you so, so very much…_

… _He was tired. He was tired and fed up of his own lack of strength. He may have been a powerful Prime, but he was sick of Fetch and Delsin always protecting him. That was going to change. Eugene focused, focused, focused, concentrating his energies and powers to form pieces of armor—very similar to the armor he wore when he was He Who Dwells. He strapped them tightly over his hoodie—one that Delsin and Fetch had given him for his birthday—to his shoulders, chest, forearms, and shins. With a purpose, he stood in front of Delsin. "I don't want to be weak. I want to be able to protect you guys." He didn't want to back down, lose his extremely rare confidence, so he acted on impulse and grabbed the back of his lover's head, pulling him into a rough kiss. He reveled in the throaty moan that escaped out of the taller man…_

… _A wet, yet burning agony encompassed his left shoulder and Eugene couldn't stop his mouth from gaping open and letting loose a tortured scream. Sobs escaped his chest and he begged for anyone to help him, to stop the pain. "Make it stop! Gah! Make it sto-o-o-op!" Through his heavy breathing and fading cohesiveness he could hear a ghastly inhuman shriek and—dear God, was that him? Large wet hands pressed against his shoulder, prompting more sobs out of him, and the added pain made him pass out, though not before he heard Delsin's and Fetch's reassuring voices…_

… _It was dark, nighttime. He could feel Delsin and Fetch pressed on either side against him, fit like puzzle pieces. But he felt like the malformed piece of the set, the piece that was now warped and no longer fit. The three of them were tangled in a mass of limbs in the sheets and it was warm, so very warm. He felt chaste kisses being peppered on his lips and neck. The combined scent of lavender, sweet shampoo, and old paper. Another pair of lips, slightly chapped but perfect all the same, kissed his stump of a left shoulder, and his breath faltered, tears escaping his eyes. "We still love you no matter what." They were quickly wiped away. The mixed scent of pine, smoke, and paint. "We love you." How could they love an ugly mutilated form like him? "We love you."…_

… _Cold. It was cold, but nice, especially when he had two amazing people to keep him warm. They were sky-watching because holy crap he'd never seen the stars in so long and he'd almost forgotten what they had looked like. "I wanna stay like this forever." He agreed to that statement. The calmness was broken, rocked. Shaking. Shaking. The roof was suddenly gone. He saw a giant automaton—Sentinel—and his mind equated it with murder. Murder._ _ **Escape**_ _. "We gotta go!" There was a dark-haired Conduit rushing them, Marcus, and another Conduit, Kendra, buying them time. "I'm not completely defenseless!" Eugene bitterly knew that she most likely wouldn't make it. They were all holding hands and Delsin was holding his shoulder—stay connected. Tingling all over, then pain. Pain. Sounds melted out of his ears and he was shaking. He gripped the hand he was holding on to tightly. Pain. He couldn't see. It was all darkness, darkness…_

Darkness.

* * *

Fetch didn't know whether to damn Hank to the deepest, blackest hell there was or ask God to bless his redneck soul. She really, really could not decide, however, she was leaning more towards the former rather than the latter. Why? Because the freakin' tattooed hillbilly caused all of this to happen. Yeah, it allowed all of them to escape, but it was also his damn fault that she and Eugene were fighting for their lived against the freaking D.U.P. And Hank was nowhere to be seen, presumably having escaped without any confrontation. She cursed the man again.

She and the kid weren't doing too bad in the slightest, but she was getting pretty worn out. They had been fighting for a long while now and she was ready for it all to end. Eugene was doing his thing up in the air, shooting down pixel-ammo and heavy-duty digital swords. His Angels, who were pretty awesome in Fetch's opinion, were almost like kick-ass avenging knights with wings. She hissed in pain when she felt the bite of a bullet graze across her cheek. Chiding herself, she got her head out of the clouds and back to her surroundings. If she didn't pay attention, it would cost her. Dearly.

The loud buffet of helicopter blades sounded overhead and Fetch was careful to keep flitting around in order to stay out of aim. Her neon beams acted as lancing shots, piercing through the weak spots in the D.U.P. officers' armor. Fetch didn't have time to think of how the bodies fell to the ground like marionettes with their strings cut.

As she ducked a barrage of bullets and blasted a D.U.P. with a face full of searing neon, she felt an ache settle behind her eyes and at her temples. _Shit, don't tell me that Mother Nature decided to gimme a gift within the next few days._ She normally got migraines during that time, and achiness behind her eyed and temples were just the beginnings of a headache that she knew would grow into a pain-in-the-ass migraine. But, she didn't have time to dwell on it when she heard a bone chilling scream rip through the air. She jerked her head up just in time to see Eugene clutching his head and bobbing unsteadily in the air like a blue balloon that had a hole poked into it. Her eye caught the helicopters trained on him and she let out a colorful stream of swears, about to Photon Jump into the open doors of the helicopters to take them out from the inside. She was saved from doing so, however, when the Angels beat her to it, destroying the helicopters before flickering out of existence in clouds of disappearing pixels.

Through the heat and the dense smoke she could make out the faint glow of Eugene's wings, vivid blue that outlined his form in the thick black, steadily and rapidly losing altitude. Somewhere in her mind, she had the thought that he was like an Angel falling to Earth. She had to clear out the area—and damn quick. The falling debris and smoke haze from the destroyed helicopters provided her with the perfect cover to draw in all her energies within herself, holding it and then releasing it with an immense concussive force, knocking out (and killing the ones that were too close to her) the rest of the D.U.P.s that were left.

"Eugene!"

Rushing over to Eugene in a blazing streak of pink and purple, Fetch skidded to her knees—ignoring the sting of the grit and gravel—and looked him over, "Dammit, Eugene, you better be okay!" She could see that he was having a small seizure and blood was trickling from his nose and ears, smearing against parts of his hair and the sides of his glasses. His left arm was mangled as if someone had put it through a meat shredder, and she cringed at the sight. She swallowed harshly and kept his head still, trying to make sure he didn't hurt himself. She had seen seizures like this during her times on the streets, to people who took bad drugs…His seizing lasted for what seemed like forever, but he was still nonresponsive. As much as she didn't want to, they needed help and she would need to get the younger Conduit to a free clinic—or at least to someone who has some medical knowledge that wouldn't rat them out to the police at first sight.

She ignored her own growing pain, a kind that was making her vision blurry and cloudy-headed, and hauled Eugene's non-mangled arm around her shoulders, dragging them both back toward the Native American reservation their vehicle had crashed into. The people probably wouldn't like them—'probably' being a strong word—but she hoped they would be kind enough to give them some first aid (at least to confirm that Eugene's seizure wasn't him dying or anything). After they were patched up, she and the kid would probably part ways. She could tell he was strong enough to take care of himself. Well, not at the current moment, but that was beside the point.

She got them forward foot by foot, yard by yard, until she could blurrily see the entrance archway, decorated with colorful flags and banners, of the community. Fetch almost sagged with relief. _Finally_. She gathered up the last of her strength to inch her way toward the entrance, but as she did so her body gave up on her. Her shaking legs buckled underneath her, hitting the ground _**hard**_. Muscles locked and she fell to her side, unable to move, with Eugene slumping next to her. _The hell?!_ She thought in shock. Why wouldn't her body move?

Next to her, she could feel Eugene begin to shake again and her breathing stuttered at the thought of her seizing uncontrollably like Eugene. Her body was beginning to numb and she felt cold like she was lying in an ice bath, but why did her heart feel like it was about to beat out of her chest and explode? Fetch had to admit to herself that she was scared because the only other time she felt this way was after taking the drugs…The Native American entrance archway faded from in front of her and was replaced by other sight and sounds— _Oh my God, I'm freaking hallucinating!—_ she'd never seen. She thought she was hyperventilating at this point, but it was difficult to tell with the increasing numbness of her body. _Christ, it's like the fucking drugs again!..._

… _She was familiar with the feeling of being in the air, but she was unfortunately equally acquainted with the feeling of concrete pressing and digging into her skin. She knew mother-fucking Augustine was lurking close by. A blonde kid was floating next to her—Eugene—and he looked banged up. She heard some guy she'd never seen nor heard before yell another guy's name—"Reggie!"—then their own—"Fetch! Eugene!" The feeling of rough concrete was then replaced with the feeling of frigid water as quick was one of her neon beams. She couldn't breathe. Murky water was all she could see. A pins-and-needles kind of cold pierced her bones, but what was that tugging on her arm?..._

… _Her body felt warm, unnaturally warm, but cold at the same time. She shivered even though she was swathed in blankets on the couch of Eugene's domain. The blonde Conduit was sitting on the edge of the couch while there was another guy—same as before—with dark hair, tan skin, and a red beanie sitting in a foldable chair next to the couch. They were taking turns reading to her, Eugene from her favorite book of Jane Eyre and the other man—Delsin, her mind provided—read from her worn and well used collection of poetry from the Bront_ _ë_ _sisters. Her eyelids felt heavy and their voices were starting to fade from her hearing…_

… _Fingers were stroking and combing through her hair, slightly longer now since she was growing it out. Eugene was flicking through his phone, searching for hairstyles as per her request. Delsin was sitting behind her, commenting that he didn't need help from the web and that he already had experience with girls' hairstyles. She listened to him explain shyly to them—which made him look adorable—how he used to be a test subject for the girls in his tribe when he was younger since he always had longish hair for a guy. Delsin's voice was smooth and upbeat, and it was pleasant just to listen to his rich baritone. Eugene made comments here and there and she could listen to his pleasant tenor all day long…_

… _She was picking up empty soda cans and takeout boxes of Chinese that they ate last night from the coffee table. The smell of sesame seed chicken. She was still hungry. The sound of running water—Eugene was showering in the bathroom. The distinct smell of black tea and the ding of the microwave timer—Delsin was getting his caffeine for the morning. She knew that he actually hated coffee. Her fingers bumped into a book with Delsin's name on it underneath the takeout boxes. Curiosity. She flipped through the pages—slightly textured—and was surprised to see sketches of herself and Eugene. More flipping, more sketches of her reading, smiling, falling asleep on Eugene's shoulder, looking out the window, and even more. There were ones of Eugene grinning and playing video games, one of him without his hood, one of him asleep on the couch, and so many more. She lifted up the book to show to Delsin and was surprised to see him blush vibrantly. She laughed and walked towards him, kissing him on the cheek. She giggled at his embarrassment as he stuttered out an explanation…_

… _Shaking. She couldn't stop shaking. The feeling of rough and grimy hands groping all over her. Hands were yanking her hair and pulling at her clothes. Make it stop, make it stop! The feeling wouldn't go away! But she hears a familiar baritone and tenor in her ears and she was reminded that she wasn't in the alley next to Walgreens anymore but instead in the caring arms of her two lovers. Uncontrollable sobs escaped her mouth and tears rivuleted down her cheeks onto Delsin's neck. Eugene was rocking her gently as he clutched her to his chest. Delsin's arms were around them both. "We love you." She held on to them tighter—please don't leave me—with her nails digging into flesh. "You're beautiful and we love you so much." Please don't leave me…_

… _Eugene walked out of the room with armor on his body and Fetch though it looked like the kind he wore when he was He Who Dwells. Delsin was behind him, hand in hand with their blonde lover. "I want to be able to protect you guys," he confessed. She didn't really think much about the armor since a lot of people were starting to wear reinforced and/or armored clothing like bullet-proof vests, durable gloves, combat boots, knee or shin guards, etc. now-a-days. She did, however, blink in surprise at his confession. All she did was clasp his hand and Delsin's with her other. Delsin grabbed Eugene's other hand and they made sure they held on tightly to their Angel…_

… _Screams of agony. An ungodly amount of red. There was debris everywhere and explosions sounded in the air. "Make it stop!" Eugene was sobbing and begging anyone to help him while Delsin pressed his large hands on top of Eugene's left shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding. She tried comforting him, whispering reassurances into his ear. Jesus Christ, how was he still conscious?! All she could see was red, everywhere—on Delsin's hands, her hands, all over Eugene. Everywhere. "We need to get to a hospital!" She didn't think she ran faster in her whole lifetime…_

… _They were almost impossibly tangled together. Limbs over limbs and hands with hands. She was pressed into Eugene's side with Delsin on his other side. It was warm, very warm. She peppered soft kissed on the blonde's neck and lips, murmuring sweet nothings into his skin with every touch of her lips. Delsin rested his forehead on Eugene's shoulder, lips brushing against the scarred skin. "We still love you no matter what." Tears fell from behind blonde eyelashes and they were quickly wiped away. Reassurance. Love. Security. "We love you."…_

… _The air was sharp and cold, typical for December. It wasn't typical for Delsin to be brooding like a grump on the roof though. She and Eugene sat on either side of him. It was warm being huddled all together. They sky-watched. Wow, it was so beautiful. She hadn't seen the stars in such a long time. She felt at peace, something that she hadn't experienced in what felt like forever. But that peace was literally rocked when the building began to rock and shake. What the hell?! The roof peeled off to reveal the face of a metallic behemoth—_ _ **murderer**_ _—looming above them. "Titans! Titans are attack the building!" a dark haired Conduit yelled—Marcus. He prompted them to leave, leaving behind a female Conduit—Kendra—to fend off the monsters. She heard herself yell, "You crazy?! We can't do that!" "Don't you worry, Fetch! I'm not completely defenseless!" She held hands and gripped them tightly. Tingling all over her body. Tingling to pain, and she held on even tighter, Agonizing pain that was ripping her apart. Sounds of metallic hell and murder were gone and she saw nothing but darkness, darkness…_

Darkness.

* * *

Published: 9/6/14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) He didn't know that Fetch and Eugene were Conduits at this point in time.
> 
> (2) This is a reference to when it was mentioned in the last chapter how Fetch got jumped by a group of guys at Walgreens.
> 
> (3) Remember, a Prime (Conduit) is one who is born with their powers naturally, not artificially given
> 
> (4) I have no idea what voice type Laura Bailey is.
> 
> A/N: I'm also posting this of FanFiction.Net! I have the same penname as here (MsMusicLover).


	3. The Phoenix, the Angel, and the Valkyrie Who Fell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own inFAMOUS: Second Son.  
> Warnings: language, violence, blood. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Reggie watched as Delsin ran forward towards the gate and disintegrated into a cloud of moving ash as he made contact with the bars. His eyes continued to trail him as he dashed through the vent, erupting like a forceful volcano and then crashing through the roof of the cannery.  _Delsin, you better be okay_ , he thought as he ghosted his fingers over the gun holster that was clipped to his belt. That asshole who did this to his little brother would pay when Reggie saw him again, one way or another.

However, as much as he worried about Delsin—Lord knows that he worried  _at least_  ten times a day  _every day_ —he had to have faith in him, that he would be alright and that he would make sure Betty would be okay too. Right now, he had to focus his attention on the growing, panicked mass of his other fellow Akomish tribesmen. If he didn't, the crowd would go out of control and, well, Reggie didn't want to think about that.

"Betty's still inside!" a woman, who Reggie couldn't see but whose voice sounded familiar, from the back of the crowd screamed.

Another woman, one he did not know, from the front of the crowd pointed where Delsin had dashed. "Delsin's a Bioterrorist! A Bioterrorist!"

"The fire's getting worse, we need to do something!" Nick, Reggie and Delsin's burly next door neighbor, yelled with wide eyes.

At that remark Reggie whipped his head from the crowd to the smoke that was rising higher and higher and fire that was growing blacker and blacker. He swore and addressed everyone. "Alright, everyone, please stay calm!" He raised his voice to make sure he was heard by all. "Panicking is not going to help anyone, especially not Betty or Delsin—" and it was as if Delsin's name alone caused another wave of jittering panic among everyone, like it reminded them that Delsin was…different now.

"Oh my God, Delsin might hurt Betty!"

"He's a Bioterrorist now!"

"Bioterrorist scum!"

Reggie had  _enough_  of that. "Hey!" he growled through his teeth as he whirled around to glare at the person who shouted that last comment. "Delsin is  _not_  scum, he's my  _brother_ and he's still a part of  _our_  tribe. Even though he has powers now he's  _still_  Delsin! He's risking his own life in there to save Betty while we're standing here squabbling over issues that don't matter right now. Unless you want us to toss  _you_  over the gate so that you can go save them, I suggest that you shut your trap." The older, gray-haired man stared at Reggie with eyes as wide as dinner plates, shocked that he would speak to him like that but said nothing as he crossed his arms and looked away with narrowed eyes.

Taking a breath to keep him focused and not snap at anyone else, he counted to ten. "Now," he spoke with deceptive calmness, "someone's called the fire department, right?"

A thin, petite boy of average height spoke up. "Y-yeah, I called them when I first saw the smoke 'cause I know we didn't have the bonfires scheduled 'till later tonight," he coughed into the long sleeve of his shirt a little at the end. God bless Frankie, the smart boy that he was. The fourteen year-old had more sense than the adults around them, who Reggie had suspected either forgot or were too scared to call the fire department, what with all the commotion the Bioterrorist was causing. He heard Frankie give another sputtering cough and knew that all the smoke and the black ash that was now dusting the air like burnt powdered sugar was reacting quite terribly with his asthma. Dammit, the kid had to get out of here before he had an asthma attack on the spot. (1)

"Thank you, Frankie, that was very perceptive of you." Reggie turned to his neighbor, "Nick, please, would you take Frankie back to his house and make sure he takes his meds? All this crap in the air can't be good for him." Nick nodded and ushered Frankie away from the crowd, ignoring the young teen's protest that he was fine and— _cough_ —the smoke wasn't— _cough_ —bothering him. "And someone run to the Longhouse tool shed and get the power saw. We can probably cut through the damn lock in a matter of—" He was cut off when a blazing cloud of fire and smoke gushed out of the broken ceiling windows, and agonized screaming followed.

 _Delsin! Betty!_  Chills ran up his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and on end. " _Shit!_  Forget the power saw! Someone hurry up and give me a lift over the gate!" Reggie was losing his composure but could care less. And whatever small amount of control he had regained over the crowd dispersed like vapor. Kids started to cry and a few women shrieked as they set their wide, frightened eyes on the burning cannery. A lot of men were letting loose strings of swears that would make a sailor blush-much like how Reggie wanted to cuss out that hillbilly Bioterrorist-while only a few kept their senses and helped Reggie. Two of the men, fairly strong guys who Reggie knew worked-or rather had worked since the place was up in flames-in the cannery, moved to the front of the gate and cupped their hands together to form a foothold for Reggie. Bracing himself- _If they drop me, I swear-_ and within a second he was clinging to the top of the gate. _Try not to break your neck, now_ , he thought to himself a he carefully scaled down. Once he reached solid ground, he said through the gate, "Make sure everyone stays back at a safe distance. The firefighters should be here soon to get this under control. That crazy -Bioterrorist is in there with Betty and Delsin and I need to help them."

"Sheriff, you shouldn't be going in there alone," one of the men who helped him input.

"That's the reason why I'm going in there by myself. I am the sheriff and none of you have proper experience dealing with these kinds of people." And by 'these kinds of people', Reggie was not sure if he meant a Bioterrorist, a convict, a psycho, or an arsonist. The guy who did this was probably all of them combined. His job as Sheriff of Salmon Bay called for the protection of all people, but his job as Reggie Rowe of the Akomish tribe was to protect  _his_  people,  _his_  family. He'd be damned if one of them got hurt by something he could have prevented himself.

Before they argued with him anymore, Reggie ran toward the cannery as he ignored the shouts from behind him. He scanned the visible perimeter of the building with quick eyes, judging the safest point of entry. The main entrance was all the way on the other side of the building and would take too long to get to; the east side was completely engulfed in flames, windows churning out blankets of smoke and ash; the south side, the side he was currently facing, had windows, but only one jammed door. The west side had no flames (yet) and had the least amount of smoke billowing out of it and therefore was Reggie's best bet.

 _There we go._  He sprinted toward that side of the cannery, all the meanwhile cursing himself for putting on a little extra weight from eating too much of Betty's crayfish stew and her blackberry cakes (2). A mixture of one part determination and one part desperation drove him forward as he kicked open the green double doors with a loud resounding  _thud_. He had to immediately cover his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his thick jacket. He moved forward with purpose, avoiding the creaking, burning wooden beams that were threatening to give way and the sudden bursts of flames. "Delsin?!" he choked out. "Betty?!" His eyes stung . His chest burned. Just as he was about to call again , a tortured male scream ripped through the dense air, and it was combined with an elderly, feminine shriek of panic. They came from behind the heavy door at the end of the hallway.

Despite the extreme heat, he felt like a cold hand encased his heart in a vice. He couldn't stop the gasp that escaped his lips. "I'm coming, you guys! Hold on!" Reggie ran forward, charging the door and ramming it open. His shoulder now ached, but that was the furthest thing from his mind as he stared with horrified, wide eyes at the scene before him. Delsin was in a heap on the black, sooty ground as he writhed in pain, letting out God-awful sobs and sounds that Reggie hadn't heard since the day their parents died. Betty was holding Delin's upper body on her knees as she cradled his head still on her lap.  _"Oh my God, Delsin!"_  he shouted as he ran to the two of them, dropping to his knees. Upon closer inspection, Reggie could see liquid red sluggishly leaking from Delsin's ears and nose, and Reggie felt a little sick in the realization that it was blood. " _Christ_ , Betty, what happened?! Are you-"

"I'm fine, Reggie, don't worry about me. Please, we need to get Delsin out of here!" The creases around her mouth and on her forehead were more pronounced with her worry. Then she continued as if she knew what Reggie was going to ask next, "That beady-eyed man got away, but Delsin said that the man did this to him!"

Reggie couldn't help the snarled " _ **What?**_ " that escaped his ground teeth.  _I'm going to track that man down and_ _ **kill**_ _him._  But, he had more pressing matters to deal with, namely his hurt little brother.

Delsin's squirming and writhing subsided, leaving him a shaking and slightly twitching. An awful keen leaked from his mouth as he face scrunched up in pain. His eyes only fluttered open for a brief second. "Delsin? Del, can you hear me?" The younger man stilled as his body went lax and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. "...Delsin?  _Shit_!"

Even in this hellish situation, Betty still reprimanded his use of language to which he half-heartedly muttered an apology-mostly on reflex more than anything.

Reggie helped Betty, who was a little wobbly from both age and fatigue up to her feet. He then lifted Delsin's still _-_ _ **too**_ _still_ \- body into his arms, careful not to jar him too much. "Let's go. We've already been in here too-" he flinched when a flaming wooden beam came crashing behind, sending up dust and ash only a few feet from them. "...long." Well, he couldn't go back the same way he came in. He held in another swear for Betty's sake.

"That way," he head Betty say next to him amidst the crackling licks of flames that were spreading as rapid as running water.

When his eyes lead him in the direction her crimson stained fingers- _stained with Delsin's_ _ **blood**_ _from cradling his head-_ were pointing, he saw the green doors, which if he remembered correctly would lead to the North entrance (the main one). "He escaped through there. It seems that's the only way we can go now." Before she even finished her sentence, she began to make her way towards the doors. "Hurry, Reggie!" He had never seen an old lady run that fast before.

The heat against his back and the weight in his arms prompted him to do just as she said. It was a little difficult to walk quickly-as he could not run-with Delsin in his arms. It was not due to his lack of strength-all officers were trained to carry dead ( _he's not dead, he's not_ ) weight while running-but rather by the fact that he did not know for certain in what state Delsin was; the excess jarring caused by running could potentially harm him. Betty was waiting at the door, and when she saw they were getting close enough she slipped out the door into the clear(er) air, making Reggie sigh in relief as Betty was a lady of older age and all that smoke inhalation could not be good for her.

Fifteen feet.

Ten feet.

Eight feet. Reggie's breath stuttered as he chokes on the thick, dense air.

Five feet.

Three feet. Tears were dripping down his eyes from the acrid smoke. They stung.

One foot.

 _Finally_ , he thought as he opened the door with his hip, careful of Delsin in his arms, relishing in the lack of noxious smoke as his lungs sucked in warm but  _clean_  air. But just as quickly as his lungs filled with air, it was just as quickly stolen from him, leaving him cold with dread as he saw armed officers and heavy-duty APC's surrounding the cannery. It wasn't the police. Oh no, it were the police, Reggie would have been overjoyed. Surrounding the canner- _and Delsin_ -were the black-yellow clad Department of Unified Protection soldiers. They had their guns at the ready, pointing at Delsin and himself and also-as Reggie had just now noticed-the damn hillbilly in the orange jumpsuit. If he didn't have an injured Delsin in his arms and guns pointed at him, he would have leaped and throttled the kneeling man.

A sharp, feminine voice made him turn his gaze from the man in front of him to the red-haired woman in a black trench coat who was standing a foot or two in front of the Bioterrorist. "And who might you be, sir?" As soon as the words left her mouth, he felt a bad chill run down his spine, one that made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end even despite the roaring heat against his back from the building. Whoever this woman was, Reggie had a feeling in his gut that she was bad news-and his gut was always right.

His best bet was just to be blunt; no floundering or beating around the bush. Blunt, though polite. "My name is Reggie Rowe, and I'm the sheriff of Salmon Bay. Who would you be, ma'am?"

The red-haired woman took a few steps past the Bioterrorist and closer to Reggie, her heels making sharp  _clicks_  with every step. Her eyes did a once-over on Reggie as if inspecting his worth. "Well, Sheriff Rowe, I am Brooke Augustine, director of the Department of Unified Protection-or D.U.P., if you will. I am here," she gestured to the man behind her who looked as if he was searching for a way to get out of his current predicament, all the meanwhile having a completely anxious and slightly desperate demeanor, " to collect this man and bring him back to our facilities. here is a highly wanted Bioterrorist criminal." When she dropped her eyes onto Delsin, making Reggie tighten his arms around him in reflex, she asked, "Who is that?"

"My brother. He's hurt. _That_  man," he jutted his chin to the Bioterrorist, "hurt him. I just wanna get my brother treated is all." As if Delsin could hear his own name being mentioned, he shifted in Reggie's arms, giving a moan of pain. "If you would just let me get to our clinic, I could-"

"I understand your predicament, Sheriff. We'll be out of your hair momentarily. I just have a few questions to ask you." Even though she was trying to be polite and pleasant, her smile that slowly spread across her lips was anything but. "That's all."

The Bioterrorist whipped around to face Augustine, but made no other sudden moves. Reggie suspected that it was because of all the clicks of the guns that were trained on the man. "That kid's a Conduit. If you gonna take me in, you gonna haf'ta take in tha' kid too," he shouted, crazed and desperate. "He's got powers like me!"

 _That rat-bastard_! Reggie thought furiously, gritting his teeth but showing no other outward signs of anger, lest Augustine grasp onto them.  _I'm going to_ _ **kill**_ _that son of a bitch!_

"Oh, is that right, Henry?" (4) Augustine piqued an interested eyebrow, still looking Reggie. "Is that true, Sheriff Rowe?"

"I don't know what a 'Conduit' is," and he was being completely truthful, "but I do know that Delsin's not one of them. Daughtry over there hurt my little brother and I want that man gone."

"It's true!" Betty input, and it wasn't until now that he noticed that she was in the grasp of two D.U.P. soldiers holding on to her shoulders.  _They had_ _ **better**_  let go of her. "Delsin came to get me out of the building because that Daughtery man wouldn't let me leave. They got into a scuffle, and now Delsin is hurt and bleeding!"

"They're lyin'!" Daughtry yelled. "I di'n' touch tha' kid!"

"Mmm, it seems like the evidence is stacked against you, Hank," Augustine said as she turned away from Reggie and neared the Bioterrorist, shaking her head. "Oh, Hank, Hank, Hank. Why couldn't you see that I was giving you a chance? All you had to do was stay in the vehicle with the other two. You could have made something good of yourself. But now I realize that I was wrong. You can't be contained by normal methods," she lifted up her hand palm out to face him, "so I suppose I'll have to contain you by another means."

' _Another means?'_   _What does she mean by_ _ **that**_ _?_  Reggie thought as he furrowed his brow. Her tone did not sit easy with him.

The loud whine of the fire engines sounded.

While Reggie was on edge, Daughtry on the other hand was completely and utterly horrified and terrified. "W-Wait! No, Please!" concrete began to creep up his body like mold on bread as if it were eating him alive. "You don' gotta do this! I-" The concrete finally crept over his face, silencing him forever. Reggie couldn't help but stare wide-eyed at the man-now-turned-statue.  _Oh my God! Is he...Is he dead? I may have wanted to shoot the man with my own gun, but that concrete...that's inhumane torture._

"Now that that's taken care of, Sheriff Rowe," Augustine said in a nonchalant manner as if she was discussing what to have for lunch, "we will be out of your hair. It will only take us a few minutes to extract Mr. Daughtry here. And don't worry, the fire department is currently taking care of the fire on the other side of the building and will be around this side shortly. Is there any damage caused by Mr. Daughtry that you might need us to take care of?"

His better judgment caused Reggie to clench his teeth so much that he thought one of them might crack. He had to make sure he did not shout all the profane and crass language that wanted to spew out of his mouth at this woman. She did not care. She did not care at all. There were methods and procedures that people in power had to make sure they followed-and Reggie knew this first hand in his experience in law enforcement. This Augustine woman was in clear abuse of her power, both literal and figurative. That Bioterrorist guy...Reggie wasn't sure if he was still alive, but he was leaning more towards no. How could she...kill that guy before bringing him in?! Even the casual way she spoke about containment threw him for a loop. her abuse of power and her frigid voice gave Reggie extremely distressing feelings about this woman.

"Sheriff Rowe?"

"Oh," he realized that she was still waiting on his answer, "no, thank you, Director Augustine. The cannery is being tended to by the fire department as you stated earlier. And the trees in front of the path to the cannery can be taken care of as well-we'll cut down the stumps and find a purpose for the burnt ones." He had to make sure his voice was even and tone and inflection. If she read into anything he said the wrong way or picked up any uneasiness, she might want to stay even longer-his little brother's weight in his arms felt even heavier now-and possibly find out about Delsin…

And there was that arctic, sharp-as-a-knife smile again. "Good. I'm glad everything went smoothly. It was good to meet you, Sheriff Rowe, and I do hope," she nodded towards Delsin- _don't even_ _ **look**_ _at him, you red-headed little-_ , "that your brother recovers son. Good day." With that, she flicked her hand in an odd gesture which apparently signalled to her men to collect the Bioterrorist-statue, pack up, and leave. There were bits of concrete all over the lot, and the smell of the smoke and burnt rubber and plastics irritated his nose. He waited until he saw all the APC's left and then another minute until he let out a haggard breath, almost like a popped balloon.

The whining sirens and thick smell of burnt man-made materials grated against his senses. The groan that came out of Delsin sounded worse than what he sounded like when he was severely ill. And one of Delsin's lowest points were when he was sick.  _Don't worry, little brother_ , he thought as he glanced at Betty who was clasping her hands together in anxiousness,  _I'll take care of you._

"It's okay, Betty. Let's get going."

* * *

"Sorry we couldn't save the building, Sheriff. But we're just lucky that no one was hurt."

"No, thank you, Chief," Reggie said as he shook the fire chief's gloved hand. "I'm happy that the fire didn't spread."

The Chief nodded. "Have a good one, Sheriff Rowe."

"Same to you, thank you."

Reggie was standing outside of the burned remains of the cannery watching as the firefighters left. Betty had long since gone home, the time in the cannery with that Daughtry man and Delsin leaving her very stressed. Almost two hours had passsed and Reggie had been left with an unconscious brother in the infirmary, the burned remains of the cannery, confused and anxious fellow tribesmen, and a growing headache the size of the state of Washington. He sighed as he rubbed his forehead.  _How the hell did this all happen?_  Why did that truck crash? What happened to the other two Bioterrorists? Despite all the questions that were running through his head, he pushed them down for another time, instead focusing on the here and now.

The other people on the reservation were in their homes, as Reggie had advised them to do. The fire and the fright of the Bioterrorist added to the incentive of staying inside. He did have to note the eerie quiet that loomed around him as he walked toward the Longhouse. He wasn't used to the absence of people around the reservation. There was usually a cacophony of voices, sounds of machinery, excited children, and music.

He entered the Longhouse and made his way to the back toward the infirmary. It was less of an infirmary and more of just a few cots lined against the walls of the room and pantries stocked with medicines and other first aid items. Oh, and an EKG machine, heart monitor, and defibrillator for if things took a bad turn. The tribe also had a licensed doctor, Martha Drake, who lived here as well. Anything that couldn't be triaged by the regular members would be taken care of by Dr. Drake or one of her assistant nurses. It was smart, though, to have the infirmary in the Longhouse because it was an easy access point. Kids running around while playing sports often came with broken bones or twisted ankles, and men who worked in the cannery and by the docks didn't have to walk (or be carried) far with lacerations, burns, rope-burns, or jammed fingers, and also the occasional concussion.

Each wall on either side of him was lined with five cots with a small metal table in between each. The green privacy curtains between each cot were pushed back except for the one at the very end-interior of the room near the wall of half-cabinets and sinks. As he neared that cot, he pushed back the flimsy curtain to see the occupant resting under a sky-blue blanket. Reggie pulled out one of the sleek black metal folding chairs that he knew were stored in one of the cabinets. He sat, hunched over, next to the occupant, and he reached out a hand to brush away a few stray strands of the occupant's long, dark hair-length and quality inherited from their mother and color from their father.

"Oh, Delsin," Reggie whispered morosely, "What did he do to you?" Delsin had been looked after by Dr. Drake after she had shucked off the younger's shoes, beanie, vest, and hoodie which had left him in his jeans and Banksy t-shirt and flannel. Reggie and Dr. Drake had cleaned the dry blood from his face, and they had quickly hooked him up to an EKG-in order to detect if there was any sudden abnormalities with his heart (which there was not, thank God)-and a heart monitor to keep an eye on him. All Delsin's vitals had looked perfectly okay, though Dr. Drake had  _strongly_  suspected that he had experienced some kind of sudden internal hemorrhaging. However, due to a lack of proper equipment, they could not have x-rayed or internally checked Delsin here at the Longhouse. Dr. Drake had wanted to keep Delsin here at the Longhouse until they were sure that he was stable before transferring him to the local hospital she worked out just a ten minute drive up the road. Thankfully, aside from any internal injuries that Delsin  _may_ -but not likely-have had, the only others were several bruises, scrapes, and cuts that had been primarily focused around his hands, neck, and face. And speaking of those injuries…

As Reggie leaned forward to inspect the area of Delsin's cheek that once before had been colored a brilliantly ugly purple, he furrowed his brow in confusion. That painful-looking purple had almost completely faded away, the only indication of it ever being there was a flutter of Delsin's eyelashes when Reggie ghosted his fingers across the area. Now, he wasn't an expert in the medical field-he left all that stuff to Dr. Drake and her assistants-but he knew for certain that bruises did not heal  _that_  rapidly. With that in mind, he was compelled to lift one of Delsin's hands and inspect the butterfly suture that was holding together a two-inch split in the skin below Delsin's knuckle.  _Make that a no-inch split,_  he corrected himself. Just like that (former) bruise along his cheekbone, Delsin no longer had the cut on his hand. "Little brother, you are certainly something else." He was not complaining, oh no. However, he did store this little observation in his head for later.

It was unclear as to how much time had passed, even though he could tell it was at least less than an hour, prompting Reggie to get up from the now-uncomfortable metal chair and stretch his legs. The steady  _beep-beep_  from the heart monitor offered him some comfort and ease. To be truthful, that same  _beep-beep_  also gave him some restlessness as well. Delsin rarely got sick, but when he did, it always landed him in the infirmary for several long days. The last time Reggie had heard a heart monitor mirroring Delsin's pulse was when Del was twelve and had contracted a nasty pneumonia, knocking him out of commission for an entire week. Reggie remembered with great clarity the terror that had gripped his heart when Del wouldn't wake up for several of those days. "C'mon, Del, wake up.  _Please_. I won't arrest you the next time you tag something, I promise. One free ticket here."

Delsin did not move.

Even when feeling the beginning of that same terror now, he just hoped that Delsin would wake up soon. He looked at the silver watch on his wrist, the digital numbers reading _5:45 PM_. "It's getting late...Maybe I should start making dinner," he said to no one as his eyes drifted towards Delsin again.

"You probably should, dear."

Reggie turned around to see Betty walking in from the mouth of the infirmary, smiling as she spoke to Reggie, "You know how your brother is. Any normal day and he could clear a table by himself!" (5)

He couldn't help the snort that escaped him. "Hmm, that he could. I'm just glad he works in Mx. Hawk's Craft Shop. (6) Mx. Cecil Hawk was the thirty-two year-old owner of the reservation's craft store. "My wallet would have long since protested if he didn't." As the Longhouse also doubled for a cultural center during the tourist months, the craft store was less than fifteen feet from it-easy to see, easy for people to get stuff. Delsin had started working for Cecil when he was seventeen, and it was his favorite place to be other than Betty's kitchen. Reggie knew, from Cecil often mentioning to him, that Delsin was their favorite employee, other than Frankie.

Betty walked toward Delsin with the speed of a turtle, and Reggie grabbed a chair for her to sit when he saw her knees getting shaky. He could tell by her slower-than-average speed that the smoke had affected her in more ways than she let on. "Speaking of the craft store," she said, "How do you think Cecil is taking the news of Delsin's…. _ahem_ , new abilities?"

Reggie hummed, crossing his arms as he sat back in his own chair. While he had not seen Cecil in the initial crowd that had been swarming near the factory earlier, he had no doubt that the store owner had already heard the news about his little brother. In a tight-knit community like this, people liked to talk. "Probably surprised like the rest of us, but otherwise just worried. They most likely heard about Delsin being admitted here, too" Poor Cecil, Reggie could already imagine them biting their nails right now, pacing around their house until Dr. Drake gave the 'okay' for more people to visit.

Then again, their impatience would compel them not to wait.

"How long until they show up, do you think?" he asked.

Betty shook her head with a smile, thumbing over the butterfly suture on Delsin's hand. "Since it's been a few hours already, give them ten minutes at the most. To tell you the truth, I'm a little surprised Cecil hasn't snuck their way in here already."

A comfortable, amiable silence fell over the room, only punctuated with Delsin's steady breathing, the heart monitor, and the metronome-like  _tic-tic-tic_  of the wall clock hanging by a poster of the human skeleton. Reggie would have loved to continue to enjoy the pleasant atmosphere after talking about Cecil and their eccentric nature, but there was something that had been bothering him now for the past few hours. He straightened his back in his chair as he spoke up.

"Betty?"

"Hm?"

He took a breath. "I need to ask you something that's been on the back on my mind since earlier."

Betty let go of Delsin's hand and looked at him with a worried little frown. "Of course. What's wrong, Reggie?"

"What...what do you think of Delsin?" He waited a beat before he added, "His abilities, I mean?" Betty was always there for Delsin and himself, even long before their parents had died. She always helped them and took care of them. She gave them advice when they floundered aimlessly through their problems, and was not afraid to cuff them both upside the head when they (admittedly) needed it. What he thought was the best thing about Betty was that she was one of the  _very_  few adults that Delsin looked up to, completely respected, was comfortable with, and absolutely trusted. Reggie could count those people on one hand: Betty, Nick, and Cecil; their parents had been on there, too. He wouldn't know what to do if she rejected Delsin. It was the deep respect for her that caused him to become anxious when she frowned and got up from her chair then walked right in front of him. He barely had time to utter an 'um' before he was smacked right upside the head. Hard.

" _Ow!_  Jeeze, Betty! What-?" he wisely shut up when he saw her put her hand on her hip and her lips purse. The finger the she raised at him made him realize that he was in deep; as to what set Betty off, he had no clue.

Her tone was as sharp as the staples in the office appliance she often wielded. "Reggie Rowe, you are just as thick-headed as your brother! If you think I would stop caring about Delsin-and you-only because he has some smoky fingers, then you are denser than I thought! You two are like," she had to pause in order to clear her throat and blink away a few tears from spilling, "like the grandkids I never had." Reggie felt a pain in his chest at what Betty had said. He knew that Betty's only child, her daughter, had discovered ever since she was seventeen that she was sterile and could not have kids. While Betty did not show it often, everyone knew how sad she was not having grandkids, so for her to consider Delsin and he  _her own_  grandkids…

Reggie stood from his chair and embraced her. "Oh, Betty, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made you upset and that I didn't realize how you felt sooner." He gave her a little smile, "Guess I am a  _little_  thick-headed sometimes.

The older woman snorted then wiped her eyes, hitting his chest with a light hand. " _Hmph_ , so much like your father," she murmured softly.

The thirty year-old man just smiled and hugged her tighter. Betty was the best.

They were startled out of their embrace when Nick came barreling through the infirmary entrance with what looked to be a young adult male in his thick arms. "Reggie," he panted as if he had just run a long way, "We found these two in front of the gate entrance by the Longhouse." At 'we', Reggie then noticed the long, tall frame of Cecil standing behind Nick. Cecil was carrying the body of a rather short woman, just a few inches over five feet tall. A grimace pulled on Nick's face as he glanced at the body in his arms, which Reggie just now realized was  _dripping_ _ **blood**_ _from his_ _ **mangled**_ _left arm._  "They're in pretty bad shape, Sheriff." Cecil looked equally distressed as they worked their lip to the point of bleeding.

 _Jesus Christ, they're wearing orange jumpsuits like that Hank guy_. "You two brought  _Bioterrorists_  to the reservation?! Did you not see what happened the last time?!" Reggie thought they had more sense than that, for God's sake.

"Oh, goodness," he heard Betty gasp next to him, fear very evident.

"Reggie, hun…" Cecil looked at him from behind their glasses, "I know...I know that they may not be the,  _ahem,_   **best**  characters, but they're hurt. We couldn't just leave 'em lying on the road."

"Cecil-"

"C'mon, Reggie," Nick sent him a heavy look. "This kid's arm looks like it's about to fall off, and I'm pretty sure they both had some kind of brain injury or something. They both had blood coming from their noses and ears, and I may be no Martha but I know that's not normal."

_Blood from the ears and nose, just like Delsin. The hell?_

The Sheriff gritted his teeth and shook his head. " I know you all mean well, but we can't do this. They can't stay here. After what happened in the cannery and that Director woman, I don't want anything else to risk the tribe's safety."

"Reggie Rowe," Betty, despite kneading her hands in her skirt nervously, sent Reggie a look just like Nick had done. "We are Akomish. We do  _not_  leave injured people to just fend for themselves, whether they may be regular ol' Joe-blows or people with powers sparking from their fingertips. You can restrain them with your handcuffs," she gestured to the two pairs of cuffs clipped to his belt, "once we get them fixed up. And from what Nick said, they may help us figure out what happened to Delsin."

As much as he disliked it, he had to say that Betty had a point. If the Bioterrorists had the same symptoms that Delsin had earlier, it could be some kind of sickness that was spreading between people with powers.  _Is that even possible_? If interacting with the Bioterrorists meant anything, at the very least it would help him help his brother.

He sighed. "Alright, alright. Fine. Nick, Cecil, lie them on the cots. And- _God_ , that kid's arm looks terrible. Did he lose against a meat grinder or something? Did someone wrap his-oh, you did, Nick? Nice job, man. Betty, please, call Dr. Drake. She's probably going to want to see this."

"We already called her, hun," Cecil said as they deposited the woman-with pink hair, as Reggie just noticed with some surprise-two cots away from Delsin. "She said she'd be right over."

"I'll hold her to it," Reggie replied without missing a beat. Dr. Drake was punctual to a fault. All the years that he and Dr. Drake had known each other, she had never been late to anything. Not once. In good humor, the  _'I'll hold you to it'_  phrase had become an automatic response between them. "Did she say what time she would be here?"

"Five minutes," Nick said.

Cecil added, "Which was exactly five minutes ago, so she should be here right-"

"Let me see them!" Dr. Drake's voice was commanding and sharp. Urgency was laced in her words as she looked like she was holding herself back from outright sprinting towards the cots.

"-here. Hey there, Martha-hun."

Dr. Drake gave a curt nod as a greeting, all the meanwhile pushing them away from the cots so she could inspect the patients. Reggie and the others took no offense and just went with it, knowing from firsthand experience that they should  _not_  get in the way of Dr. Drake and her patients. Reggie had an acute memory of being practically thrown to the side when he was standing too close to Dr. Drake's patient when she was trying to inspect the kid's broken ankle. The Sheriff fingered his flank, as if the bruise that had three of his ribs was still there.

The thirty-six year-old woman inspected the woman first. "Female, early twenties. Mild hemorrhaging in the brain as seen from the blood from the nose and ears," she looked up at Reggie first, then the others, "just like Delsin." She checked the woman's temperature, eyes, and heartbeat. "Faster than normal heart rate-though nothing to be overly concerned about-and skin is cold to the touch. Temperature is ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit. Pupils responding normally to light, so I vote out a concussion." She draped her stethoscope back around her neck and pocketed the thermometer momentarily. "This Jane Doe is alright, for the most part," she said as she twirled her pen-light in between her fingers. "I'm not overly worried about the blood. From what I've checked, the hemorrhaging has long since stopped-like Delsin-so I am comfortable waiting until both the Jane and John Does wake up in order to run more thorough tests. For the Jane Doe, the elevated heart rate is most likely due to any stresses she experienced before being found. As for her temperature, just keep her under a warm blanket or two."

If he was ever asked in the future how relieved he was at this moment, he would not be able to accurately describe it.  _Thank goodness we don't need to bring Delsin to the hospital. At least that's one thing I don't have to worry about now._  What if Delsin's powers somehow went off in the hospital? What if one of the hospital staff notified the D.U.P.? That Augustine woman would probably return and take Delsin away, and harass the tribe. Or worse.

Dr. Drake moved from the woman to the younger male. "He appears to be in his early twenties, like the Jane Doe. Heart rate normal, as is temperature." She leaned in more closely to inspect his face and hands. "Drool trickling from the mouth, very rapid movement of the eyes, and minute muscle spasms of the fingers of the right hand. I suspect he had experienced a seizure earlier, poor thing." Reggie noticed her lift up the kid's-and he said kid and not man because this guy looked like he was younger than Delsin-left arm, move the jacket that was acting as a bandage, and suck in a harsh breath. " _Mercy_ , what happened to his arm?! Did he get attacked or something?!"

Nick grimaced. "That's the way we found him, Martha. When we found the two of them, they looked like they were trying to escape something."

"Mmhm," Cecil added, "Whatever they were trying to get away from, it looks like they fought mighty hard. Desperately, in my opinion." They crossed their arms over their chest as they fingered the cross necklace hanging from their neck. "The girl looked like death warmed over, and the boy there looks like he went toe-to-toe with a mean grinder, as everyone's been saying. They may be,  _uh_ , Bioterrorists but I speak for myself when I say that I, in good conscious, could not leave them lying in the dirt like that, hun."

"I'm not faulting you guys in the slightest," Dr. Drake said. "But I am a little surprised to the extent of this John Doe's injuries. I don't see lacerations like this outside of car accidents, factory accidents, or war trauma. These kinds of gashes…" she trailed off as she clicked her tongue. "No movement in the fingers of this arm, unlike his right. Though, that might be due to the seizure. I won't be positive until he wakes up. The wounds need to be disinfected and sutured immediately. That I can do here." (7)

She stood up and heaved a sigh. Turning to him, she said, "I can get some equipment on loan from the hospital due to my high position. I assume you want to keep this private, Reggie?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I don't want to bring any more attention to the tribe, especially from the D.U.P. You did see what happened to the Bioterrorist, right?"

"Ugh, terrible. I wish I hadn't," Dr. Drake spat. "It's against human rights. Bioterrorists may be different that average people, but there is still a code of ethics to follow. Just watching, I could list at least several ethics-at least from a medical practitioner's point of view-that she broke. And I'm fairly positive that you noticed a few legal problems, right, Sheriff?"

He couldn't hold back the derisive sneer that pulled on his face. "Sadly, yes."

They did not talk for several long minutes, listening to the ticking clock, Delsin's heart monitor, and Dr. Drake as she prepped the John Doe for stitches. The smell of antiseptic, soap, and iodine was sharp in the air. Nick had thrown his bloody jacket-that probably could never be used again-which had been acting as a makeshift bandage, in the sink. Betty had gotten two blankets from one of the cupboards to cover the Jane Doe. The  _tap-tap-tap_  of an anxious shoe, connected to a jittery leg, echoing against the hardwood floor let everyone know of Cecil's anxiety. The Afro-Akomish store owner twiddled with one of their long dreads. "I really think we need to talk to the rest of the tribe about this. I mean, Delsin over there won't be a problem, but we are harboring two Bioterrorists here. What do you all think?"

"Cecil's got a point. The rest of the tribe has a right to know and a right to voice their opinions," Nick said from his spot by the sinks.

Dr. Drake spoke from her spot near the John Doe, still working on all the various sutures. "Betty? What are we going to do?"

Betty took a moment to gather her words. "Well...I'm going to go discuss this with the other elders and see what they say." Betty was the matriarch of the tribe, and while the other four elders would voice their opinions, Betty naturally had the most sway in things. (8) "Why don't you go home, Nick and Cecil? I imagine you two are quite tired. Reggie, I think you should come with me. I could use some help explaining all this moose-poop we've landed ourselves in."

Cecil and Nick waved their goodbyes and left, but not before giving Dr. Drake a supportive hand on the shoulder.

"Martha, dear," Betty said, "I trust you can handle this by yourself? Reggie and I will come later to check on Delsin and these other two."

"Certainly, Betty. Nothing I can't deal with."

Walking out of the infirmary, Reggie made sure he commented, "I'll hold you to that, Dr. Drake."

A snort followed. Just as he stepped out the door he heard the doctor's sardonic voice. "Please don't insult my skills like that, Reggie. You know me better than that. Even one of my assistants could do this without much trouble. And I told you…"

...Call me Martha."

* * *

Published: 6/23/15

Here are pictures of Cecil, Nick, Frankie, and Martha

Cecil: [(x)](http://ms-musicl0vertheconduit.tumblr.com/post/122462726000/here-is-my-oc-cecil-hawk-they-are-going-to-be-a), Nick: (to be added), Frankie: [(x)](http://ms-musicl0vertheconduit.tumblr.com/post/122485962915/heres-my-other-oc-frankie-who-is-another), Martha: (to be added)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all for being so patient. I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter! !Don't forget to leave a review, everyone. It would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> A/N 2: I really enjoyed writing Reggie. I've never written him before, but I'd imagine him to be really protective over Delsin, especially against people like Augustine.
> 
> A/N 3: This is also posted on my FanFiction page, and also on my Tumblr (ms-musicl0vertheconduit)
> 
> (1) I have extremely bad asthma, so I know how difficult it is to breathe when there's stuff in the air. Harsh coughing and sputtered, labored breathing can be the first indications of an asthma attack.
> 
> (2) I researches Duwamish foods, but I did not find much. However, I did find what the Duwamish used to eat in the past. Blackberries, among other kinds of berries, were often used for cakes or could be eaten fresh or dried. Crayfish were among some of the summer foods next to mussels and salmon. ( en. wikipedia wiki/ Duwamish_tribe)
> 
> (3)I had started typing this long before I went back and viewed the game, so the gate and building descriptions are a little off.
> 
> (4) Hank's full name is Henry "Hank" Daughtry.
> 
> (5) I headcanon that Conduits generally have a larger appetite than regular people due to the fact that their powers burn more energy. Just like athletes burn energy from using their bodies, a Conduit using their powers is just like using their own body, basically.
> 
> (6) The title "Mx." is a gender neutral term. Similar to the feminine "Mrs." or "Ms.", and the masculine "Mr.". Often used by nonbinary persons.
> 
> (7) I have no professional medical knowledge. Anything medical in this fic is from any background info that I already had and Google. So if anything is incorrect, that's why.
> 
> (8) I imagine that the Akomish have a sort of self-governing democratic system, almost like a city council (or even like one of those neighborhood councils). Betty is like the president and the other elders are like the council board members. Oh, and I feel like the Akomish follow a more matriarchal system than a patriarchal one. I really wish that Sucker Punch had used a real-life tribe (like the Duwamish) instead of making up one. That way it would be a lot easier to write them, then.


End file.
